The Origin of Love
by serial-shipper
Summary: Story is based on a Tumblr prompt. An AU where everyone is given a necklace that indicates when and if they find their soulmates. Makes everything easy, right? Nope. Very slow burn. Rated T for language. Heavily laden with useless bits of philosophy, physics, politics, and sarcasm. Give it a look
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys, this is my first fic, so I would love to know what you think. I plan on making this story very long-ish, so bear with me. It will not be find-your-soulmate-be-instantly-happy sort of thing. **

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own pitch perfect, so you can't sue. HUH! **

**This is for sunnywinterclouds for being an amazing Beta! Thanks, mate.**

* * *

_Bloop._

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6._

_Bloop_

_7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12._

_Bloop_

_13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18._

A drop every six seconds. That's ten drops per minute. That's fourteen thousand and four hundred drops per day. That's approximately 6000 litres of water wasted yearly. All because a human, somewhere, had decided to not take the time to make sure the tap was shut off properly.. And that's just one tap in one house. If we consider an entire town, or even a neighbourhood, well, I'm sure you can do the Math. _The human race is fucked._ Beca thought.

_Creak._

"God dammit Billy! What the fuck is going on here? The house is a mess."

"Well, hello to you too darling."

"You fucking drunk bastard. You just sit there on _my_ sofa in _my_ house all day doing shit."

"Your house? That's my house. It's my fuckin' money."

"What money is that? You don't even have a job."

"Yeah, well, they sure do pay you enough money to take care of your little brat."

"It's not nearly enough. Not when you keep wasting it on beer."

"I don't see the point of keeping her then. We take her in. We feed her. We let her go to school. And she's nothing but a know-it-all pain in the ass. I say we get rid of her."

Beca lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers idly fiddled with the necklace around her neck, holding the pendant between her thumb and forefinger. The heated argument was just background noise to her by this point. Her mind didn't register their harsh words anymore; she'd heard them far too many times before anyway. Besides, she had other sounds to focus on: the sound of the water drops as they collided head first with the solid surface of the sink and were, consequently, scattered in different directions; the creaking sounds of the doors as they were swung back and forth even with the gentlest breeze of air; and the slight whooshing sounds of a poorly treated TV. Yeah, Beca had other sounds to focus on alright.

A ray of sunshine slowly crept into the otherwise dimly lit room of hers through the otherwise impregnable window glass that was covered in a mixture of dirt, grease and slime.

Have you ever looked at a ray of sunshine? And I mean really looked at it. It pierces the stillness of the air in a long, determined and straight beam of light. It uncovers the secret party the very specks of the heavens are having until you can see them delicately gliding, floating, and performing intricate patterns in an eternal dance that we have always been oblivious to.

Beca didn't want to disrupt them and opted for just watching. Still twirling her necklace, she inched closer, and closer, to get a better look at the constant stream of particles, performing their well-practiced dance in their secret ball. To an outsider, it may have seemed that Beca was staring into nothingness. In fact, anyone who would have seen the sixteen year old laying on her side, tilting her neck slightly to get a better look at a ray of sunshine, would have thought that she'd gone mad. Not that Beca really cared what anyone would think. You see, Beca was one of those people who was blessed enough to truly say that they didn't give a damn.

It wasn't always like that, though.

Beca reckoned there must have been a time when the world had meant anything to her, when she had cared about people. _When people cared about me._ Beca thought that, yes, there must have been a time when she had believed in fairy tales, when the lines separating dreams and reality had been blurred enough that she couldn't tell the difference. Alas, it must have been too long ago, because Beca had no memories of those times.

She knew better now. She knew that the world would happily turn its back on a 3 year old that'd lost her parents. She knew that the world couldn't care less about a 7 year old being tossed around from one foster family to the other. She knew the world didn't notice the lingered gazes a 10 year old threw at every happy family she saw. She knew the world would never dry the tears that a 12 year old shed every night for not being wanted. Oh yes, Beca knew better now. Beca _definitely_ knew better now.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but a bright light caught her eyes and she looked down to see that the sneaky ray of sunshine had managed to find her necklace, causing the piece of metal to blink and shine. She brought the pendant up slightly to get a better look at it. It was a simple, dark, waning crescent. Beca softly traced it, running her fingers around the edges and back to the front. She idly thought back to all those times she'd executed those exact same actions. The necklace had been given to Beca at birth, and just like everyone else, she'd always worn it. It wasn't like she could take it off anyway. You see, Beca's (and everyone else's) necklace was very special.

Beca sighed. She'd heard that story a million times before, the one that took place when the earth was still flat. People looked like freakish barrels; they had two pairs of hands, two pairs of legs, and two heads. One (or two, if you think in the autonomic terms of the present day) person defied the Gods. The Gods were pussies and decided to rip all people in halves out of fear. People ran around like headless chickens, and died of heartache. The Gods grew merciful and gave us necklaces that glow whenever they near our other half's necklaces, and then the two necklaces merge into one. _Blah Blah Blah._

Beca had often thought about this story. Even she, the perpetual pessimist, had always found the notion of finding her other half fascinating. At first, she used to think that all her problems would magically disappear once she met her. (Yes, Beca knows it must be a her. Because dudes are, as Beca so gracefully puts it, _yuck!_) Beca thought that by finding Ms. X, she would finally find a friend, a love, a family, and a home. But again, Beca knew better now. She knew the chances of finding your other half were slim to none; she didn't even know anyone who had. _And besides, even if I do find her now, I'm too ruined for her to fix._ So, Beca stopped looking. In fact, one could even go as far as to say that Beca not only stopped looking, but also actively stayed away from all the paths that could ever lead to Ms. X.

Beca's stomach gave a loud grumble and as she glanced towards the clock, she noticed it was almost 6. With a shrug, she realized she had been ruminating on her existence for long enough. She slowly got up, stretching her sore muscles as she did so. She took a deep breath and let it out evenly in an attempt to calm herself down before opening the door to her bedroom. With a sigh of relief, Beca realized that no one was home. She headed to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and decided that a sandwich was by far her safest option, because she wasn't quite sure the food in the fridge was even edible anymore. And as she head back to her room, grabbed her laptop, pulled her ridiculously over-sized headphones over her ears, opened up a song-mixing software, pressed a few buttons expertly, and shut the world out, Beca thought that yes, she really didn't want to find Ms. X.

* * *

**So what do you think? R&amp;R, please?**

**Also, I'm on tumblr: physicistsserialshipping. tumblr. com **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here we go, this is the second chapter. The response for the first chapter had been overwhelming to say the least. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read the story.. and extra thanks to those who took even more time to review and favourite. Honestly, it means the world to know that you've enjoyed something I wrote. I hope I don't disappoint with this chapter either. **

**The song used at the end of the chapter is The Origin of Love by Hedwig and the Angry Inch. **

**Many, many - many thanks to sunnywinterclouds for being an amazing Beta. This story would have never been published had it not been for her. I really appreciate it, dude! **

**Disclaimer: As much as I would want to, I, unfortunately, do not own Pitch Perfect.. Or the song... **

* * *

From around 93 million miles away from the Earth, 600 million tons of hydrogen nuclei per second were being converted into helium nuclei. The nuclear fusion rapidly happening in our star was sending innumerable, light-carrying photons to the entire universe. One particular resident of the universe, Chloe Jean Beale, was not very appreciative of the very complex nature of the reaction that was keeping all organisms on Earth (and other planets of the solar system, because come on!) alive.

_Come on._ Chloe whined to herself, shutting her eyes tight. _Just five more minutes, please._ Chloe offered the sun her cutest, most adorable pout, hoping it would bend to her cuteness. Unfortunately, the hopefully long-lasting conversion of hydrogen nuclei would not acquiesce to the imploring mumbles and protruding lower lip of a bubbly redhead.

Chloe groaned as a ray of sunshine knocked, none too gently, on her eyelids and stole away all hopes of more sleep. The redhead finally sighed in defeat and opened her ocean-blue eyes.

Sitting up in her bed, Chloe stretched her arms and gave a satisfied grunt as she heard (and felt) the popping and clicking sounds of her muscles. She reached down, right above her heart, and took the pendant of the necklace around her neck between her thumb and forefinger. Raising the half-sun-shaped pendant to her lips, Chloe laid a small kiss on its smooth surface. _Morning, beautiful._ She let the pendant fall back to its place, stood up slowly, and made her way to the bathroom. She opened the water tap and worked on getting just the right temperature, then splashed her face with water, reached for her toothbrush, squeezed out the toothpaste, and brought her toothbrush to her mouth.

_Brush your teeth, brush your teeth,_

_Give them all a treat._

_Brush up and down and all around,_

_To keep them clean and neat._

Chloe sang her well-memorized song in her mind as she continued to brush her teeth. After she was finished, she went back to her room, got changed, and headed downstairs.

"Morning sunshine. Slept well?" Chloe's mum asked as soon as she spotted her daughter. Jean Beale, née Granger, was still attractive despite being in her mid-fifties. Her bright red hair was kept short, and her green eyes held a certain warmth to them.

Sunshine had been Chloe's nickname since as long as she could remember. Everyone who knew Chloe would testify that the title was well-deserved. Like the sun, Chloe Beale was warm, energetic, and lively. She shone the brightest and radiated warmth and light that filled the hearts of all those around her.

"Morning, Mum." Chloe replied in her characteristically high-pitched, chirpy voice. "I slept great, thanks. I'm starving, though, what's for breakfast?"

Mrs. Beale chuckled softly. "There's some toast for you. Your dad wanted to wake you up for breakfast, but I thought we should let you sleep in, seeing as you were up so late."

Chloe grabbed a piece of toast, not even bothering to butter it before stuffing it in her mouth.

"So how was the party last night?" her mother asked.

Chloe swallowed hurriedly before answering, "Oh my God, Mum! It was amazing. It was Aubrey and me and like five or six other people and it was just so awesome and the music was loud and perfect and then that guy Chad, he's like the funniest guy on Earth and he has the best dance moves ever and –"

"Whoa. Slow down there, sunshine." A voice came from behind the two women, interrupting Chloe's long, rambling, and very detailed narration of the exact events of last night's celebration.

"Caleb!" The surprised exclamation was immediately followed by an excited squeal as Chloe turned around and got the confirmation that, yes, Caleb, Chloe's older brother, was in fact here. Caleb was just one year older than Chloe. He was a tall, lanky guy with the same radiant, Beale's trademark red hair. He had moved away for college a year earlier, and Chloe no longer had the chance to see him regularly. After Chloe's older siblings had moved out, it was just Chloe and Caleb. The two siblings were very close and Chloe had missed him dearly.

Caleb brought Chloe into a tight hug that lasted a good full minute. "What are you even doing here?" Chloe questioned as she pulled back from their embrace.

"It's good to see you too, sunshine," said Caleb, laying on the sarcasm thick. "Kyle and Marissa, Calvin, and Carl and Samantha should all arrive in an hour or so as well. Carl is even bringing Martin and Hannah along."

Caleb announced the expected arrival of the rest of the Beale's clan. Kyle, Calvin and Carl were all Chloe's older brothers. Kyle had graduated two years ago with an English degree. He had met his wife, Marissa, in college. Kyle had been nothing short of ecstatic about finding his soul mate, and as soon as he had graduated, he had proposed. Marissa, of course, had said yes and the pair had been living in Boston since. Carl was the eldest of the Beale boys. He, too, had found his soul mate. He and Samantha met in high school. They fell madly in love and decided to tie the knot four years ago, after they'd both graduated. Nearly a year later, Martin and Hannah were born to them. The twin brother and sister had been the latest addition to the family.

However, Calvin's expected arrival was by far the most shocking to Chloe. He was sort of the rebellious one in the family. After high school, Calvin refused to go to college. Instead, he opted to travel the world with the Red Cross. He was currently in Zimbabwe. Two months ago, the family had received a phone call from a very enthusiastic Calvin, claiming that he had found "her." Her being a beautiful French girl who was working with the Red Cross as well.

"What? Really? All of them?" Chloe was practically giddy with excitement. Chloe's family had always been tight-knit and Chloe enjoyed a very close relationship with all of her siblings. She didn't take too kindly to not being able to see them daily.

"Way too ruin the surprise there, Caleb," came the voice of none other than Mr. Beale himself. He, too, was attractive for a man in his mid-fifties.

"Sorry, Dad," Caleb offered as he grabbed a piece of the toast on the counter, not looking very sorry at all.

"Hey, that's mine." Chloe tried to snatch the toast back, but to no avail. Giving up on her breakfast and actually remembering her earlier track of thought, Chloe turned to look at her dad as he chuckled softly at the sibling's display.

"What surprise? Did you guys plan this?" Chloe asked.

"Of course we did, sunshine. We wanted the entire family here to see you off to college tomorrow." His voice broke slightly towards the end of the sentence. It was as if he couldn't believe that Chlo-chlo, his baby girl, his sunshine, was so grown up already. For Mr. Beale, it seemed as if it was just yesterday that Chloe had bounced up and down, screaming for a piggyback ride. He could still see his little girl whom he had spent the entire night comforting after the boys had convinced her that her tooth would never grow back again. He could still vaguely remember the eulogy he had written for Mr. Skittles, Chloe's late golden fish.

Chloe noticed how emotional her father was getting, and wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into the warmth and safety that only her father's hug could bring.

"I'll always be your baby girl." Chloe whispered. Her father's arms tightened around her, lifting her slightly off the ground.

"I love you, Chloe. We all do."

"I love you too, Daddy."

No sooner had Chloe's arms slipped off Mr. Beale's neck, then he was pulled into another tight embrace. This time it was Mrs. Beale's arms that wrapped themselves around him. Both their necklaces shone brightly and they smiled softly at each other, love evident in their eyes.

"Our little babies are all grown up," Mr. Beale whispered softly as he turned to look at Chloe and Caleb, who both had tears in their eyes.

"Yes. Yes they are." Mrs. Beale put on her _proud-mama_ look and gazed at the two siblings lovingly.

"Aw, enough mushy stuff already," Caleb exclaimed, as he discreetly wiped at his cheeks. "You know I suck at those." The Beales broke out into a fit of laughter.

* * *

By the time the clock struck its pendulum, announcing it was now 6 in the evening, the entire Beale's clan was in the house. The whole place was bustling as the family settled down for dinner, sharing stories, reminiscing about old memories, and laughing at their own jokes.

"After dinner story!" Chloe, Caleb, Hannah and Martin all got out excitedly at the same time.

Carl chuckled loudly. "Some things never change, eh, Dad?" A soft smile graced both of the men's lips.

"Alright, alright! Come on, all of you. Sit down."

Within minutes, the floor of the living room was occupied by every single family member in the Beale clan. Carl, Samantha, Martin and Hannah were all tucked in together. Carl was leaning against the legs of a chair and Samantha had her back against his front. Martin and Hannah sat right next to their mother. Carl's arm was stretched as he enveloped Samantha and the kids into his embrace. Marissa sat somewhat in the corner of the room, with her legs stretched as Kyle laid his head on her lap. Mr. and Mrs. Beale sat on the sofa, waiting for everyone to take their place and settle down. Caleb and Chloe looked at each other, snickered, and sat next to each other.

"So, sunshine, what story do you want to hear?" Mr. Beale asked his daughter.

"The Origin of Love." Chloe clapped her hands animatedly. The Beale boys all rolled their eyes. Of course Chloe would choose this particular story. It was what she always chose.

"Glad to see some things will always be the same, Chlo-Chlo," Caleb snorted.

"Shut up." Chloe poked her sibling in the ribs. "I like it, okay?"

"Of course you do, sunshine," Mrs. Beale whispered. "The Origin of Love it is."

* * *

_When the Earth was still flat, and the clouds were made of fire._

_Mountains stretched up to the sky, sometimes higher._

_Folks roamed the Earth like big rolling kegs;_

_They had two sets of arms, and two sets of legs._

_They had two faces peering out of one giant head._

_And they could watch all around them and they could talk while they read._

_And they never knew nothing of love. That was before the origin of love._

_And there were three sexes then: _

_One that looked like two giant men, _

_Glued back to back, called the children of the sun._

_And similar in shape and girth_

_Were the children of the Earth,_

_Who looked like two girls rolled up in one._

_And the children of the moon_

_Were like a fork shoved on a spoon._

_They were part sun, part earth, _

_Part daughter, part son._

_Now the Gods grew quite scared of our strength and defiance_

_And Thor said "I'm gunna kill them all with my hammer, like I killed the giants."_

_And Zeus said "No, you better let me use my lightning like scissors,_

_Like I cut the legs of whales and dinosaurs into lizards."_

_And he grabbed up some bolts, and he let out a laugh,_

_Said "I'll split them right down the middle. Gunna rip them right in half."_

_And then storm clouds gathered above, into great balls of fire._

_And then fire shot down from the sky in bolts like shining blades of a knife._

_And it ripped right through the flesh of the children of the sun, and the moon, and the earth._

_And some Indian god, sewed the wound up into a hole,_

_Pulled it round to our belly to remind us of the price we pay._

_And Osiris and the Gods of the Nile gathered up a big storm, to blow a hurricane,_

_To scatter us all away in a flood of wind and rain, and a sea of tidal waves._

_And if we don't behave, they'll cut us down again _

_And we'll be hoping around on one foot, looking through one eye._

_The last time I saw you, we had just split in two._

_You were looking at me, and I was looking at you._

_You had a way so familiar but I could not recognise,_

_Because you had blood on your face, and I had blood on my eyes._

_But I could swear by your expression that the pain down in your soul_

_Was the same as the pain down in mine._

_That's the pain. Cuts a straight line down through the heart._

_We call it love._

_So we wrapped our arms around each other, trying to shove ourselves back together._

_We were making love._

_It was a cold dark evening, such a long time ago._

_When by the mighty hands of Jove,_

_It was the sad story of how we became lonely two-legged creatures._

_It's story of the origin of love._

* * *

**So, what do you think? Review, please? Reviews make my day and they let me know you guys actually enjoy this... **

**Also, I'm on Tumblr: physicistsserialshipping. tumblr. com. Let me know if you have any questions about the story or anything in general :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey there again.. I'm sorry this may have taken longer; life happened.. The updates are not going to be all that rapid during the upcoming month because I have finals but I'm not abandoning this.**

**To all the awesome people who read, favourite, follow and review, I salute thee! Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect. Seriously.**

**Thank you to my awesome Beta, sunnywinterclouds, who understands all the weirdness in my head.**

* * *

On a microscopic scale, billions and billions of centrosomes were migrating towards the poles of their respective cells. Infinite numbers of Microtubules stretched across the cell, attaching themselves to the chromosomes. The silence was deafening as each side waited for the other to make the first move. Like a true war general, the centrosome declared battle. The microtubules instantly initiated the tug war, pulling, stretching and pulling some more. The chromosomes were ripped in halves and torn away from each other. Each half was pulled so far away from the other that all hope to be whole again was diminished. The division rapidly took place, forming new cells. Together, cells formed colonies called tissues. The tissues aggregated into organs. The organs amassed themselves into systems, forming the epitome of their civilization, the human body.

Beca raised one dead arm and brought it down rather harshly, pounding the head of the poor alarm clock. _No, fuck you. Just shut up._ Beca gave a loud groan, and buried her head further into the pillows. The brave, oh-so brave alarm clock would have none of it, though. However the consequences, it had a job to do, and do it, it shall.

Beca gave a loud _Uugh_ that was muffled by her pillow. She slowly sat up. _Fine, fine. I'm up. Happy? Stupid fuck. _Beca glared at the alarm clock. She reached out to turn it off, thinking maybe next time she should just smash it with a hammer. And had Beca had the powers to communicate with non-living object, she would have seen the smirk that lay on her alarm clock's face, and she would have definitely smashed _the fuck_ out of it.

She made her way to the bathroom, wincing slightly at the constant buzzing sounds the abused electric lamp was making. She moved to stand in front of the sink, the top of her head the only thing visible in the cloudy, broken mirror that hung above it. Her hands reached out to open the water tap. She let the distinguishably brown water run down into the sink as the sounds of the faucet reverberated throughout the bathroom. At long last, the water became clearer. She put her hands together, and brought the makeshift basin to the water. _Finally! _She bent her head slightly and raised the liquid that was quickly slipping through her fingers to her face, giving a soft groan to protest its icy temperature. _Motherf—_

Beca made her way back to her room and pulled her permanently-packed bag to the bed. _What to wear? What to wear? So many options._ Beca smirked at her own sarcasm. She pulled out her worn-out pair of jeans, a black tank top, and a black cardigan. She put on her clothes, looked down at herself as a quick once-over, pulled her backpack over her shoulder, and opened the door to her bedroom.

A figure was huddled on the sofa in front of the TV. An array of cans that had once undoubtedly contained alcohol were scattered all around the room. Beca maneuvered her way to the kitchen, careful not to make any noises that could kick the sleeping man into consciousness. Beca needn't have worried though; the man, Rick, was completely out. Nothing short of an earthquake would have awakened him. Beca made herself a sandwich and weighed the pros and cons of pouring herself some orange juice, ultimately deciding to just drink the OJ from the carton. _Fuck it._

* * *

Finally, Beca made her way through the door, heading to _a place worse than Azkaban itself_ – school. She made it there at the precise moment the bell was announcing its daily taunt of _torture is about to begin_.

Beca made her way to the classroom, directly towards her usual spot; the seat in the back corner. She sat down and pulled her books out. There was a time when Beca's arrival to the classroom would closely be followed by whispered gossip, and an occasional snide remark thrown by _that one asshole who thought he was the living example that the Gods did something right_. By now, though, people have pretty much stopped caring. Apparently it's no fun bullying someone who _just doesn't give a fuck._

Mr. Finnegan was Beca's science teacher. He was an Irish man of around thirty five, and Beca thought he was a pretty cool guy… _except maybe for the fact that he was an accidental arsonist, who set fire to the lab every time they tried an experiment._ Some students used to make fun of Mr. Finnegan for his accent, for some reason, but they stopped soon enough. Beca theorized that they were probably just too busy plotting their escape routes in case he set the whole place on fire again.

"Morning," came Mr. Finnegan's voice. "Today we'll be experimenting with acetylene to show you the range of reactions that alkynes can perform. We'll start with the burning process."

"Oh, no," came the collective groans of every student.

* * *

The morning classes dragged on slowly, and aside from Mr. Finnegan singing his eyebrows off while demonstrating the effect of the oxyacetylene flame, Beca would say the day was pretty uneventful so far.

Lunch hour came soon enough. Beca found herself sitting alone on the furthermost corner of the room. She wasn't complaining, though – she liked it better that way. When she looked up to stare at the other students around the cafeteria, though, there was a guy making his way towards _her_ table.

_John._ Beca sighed. John Parkinson was your typical high school jock. He was the quarterback of the school's football team. He was dating a cheerleader. And he was, without a shadow of a doubt, _a complete fucking douche bag._

Beca lifted her food tray off the table and quickly got up, wanting more than anything to avoid him.

"Hey Beca," called John in a sing-song voice. Beca ignored him and kept walking.

"You look at me when I'm talking to you, you fucking emo dyke." Beca could hear his cronies – or, as she liked to call them, his babbling, bumbling band of baboons – chuckling at whatever it was that was so funny about him insulting her. Apparently, they found his uncreative insults quite amusing. Again, Beca chose to ignore them and just kept walking.

"That's right. Walk the fuck away."

Thankfully John decided not to push it. At least not today.

* * *

Finally, it was the last class of the day. _Math. Just fucking perfect._

Mr. Longbottom was a chubby, slightly accident-prone, clumsy guy, who wore thick glasses and bow ties to work. All the other students, at some point, had poked fun at Mr. Longbottom – _with that name, it's like he's just asking for it!_ – But Beca thought the man was alright. Sure, he was a bit of a nerd, but he was also the kind of teacher who had no problem sacrificing every minute of his free time to help a student. He made his way into the classroom, carrying a collection of papers and some over-sized geometrical figures, which promptly scattered everywhere when he placed them down on his desk. He then, of course, hit his head on the wood when he bent over to pick them up.

"_Loser,"_ someone said, half-way disguising it with the ever-so-cliché cough move. The rest of the students looked amused.

"Right, okay," exclaimed Mr. Longbottom, after finally succeeding in collecting all the papers. "Today we'll be talking about integration…"

Beca drowned out his voice, something she'd become rather of an expert at. Instead of listening to her teacher's words, she focused on the sound of the chalk as it dwindled every time its tip was dragged along the black board. When mixed with the slight scraping sounds of the chairs as they were pulled back and forth with their shifting occupants, the resulting noise was astonishing. Beca's mind often ventured into its own little world like this. Her mind heard the music in everything. The sounds that people so often neglect, look over, or deem unworthy were often those that Beca found herself obsessing over. Together, they made the greatest symphony. The symphony of all symphonies. _Talk about a fucking cheese ball._

* * *

The sound of the bell pulled Beca out of her trance and she looked around to see that people were already heading out of the door. _Freedom, finally!_ She quietly got up, gathered her things, and was slowly making her way out of the classroom when Mr. Longbottom's voice stopped her.

"Beca, wait a minute. Can I talk to you?"

Beca wanted to roll her eyes so badly, but she didn't want to give the man a hard time. _He gets that enough._

"Umm, sure," she muttered, as she sat down at waited for him to get this over with.

"I want to talk to you about your grades."

Beca frowned slightly. She thought her grades were fine.

Mr. Longbottom must have guessed what she was thinking, because he quickly added, "Not like that. Your grades are good. More than good, actually; your grades are excellent. I know you just started school here this year, but I've been talking to some teachers and you've been getting straight A's all year long."

His tone of surprise slightly offended Beca. _What does that even mean? I'm smart, you know._

"I've also managed to sneak a peek at your transcripts from your previous schools. Despite changing schools quite often, your GPA has been a constant 4.0. This is really huge, Beca. What are your plans for college?"

When she didn't answer, Mr. Longbottom quickly added, "Your music teacher tells me you're a natural with all instruments. Have you thought of perhaps getting a degree in music?"

"Umm, I dunno," Beca said, her voice barely above a whisper. _College?_

"Well, you may or may not know this, but I am a graduate of Barden University."

_Barden? Like best music program in the country Barden?_ Beca's eyes widened slightly.

"I've been talking to a few people over there and they're really interested in you. Personally, I think you can easily get a full ride to Barden. All you have to do is apply."

_Is this man for real?!_ Beca must have voiced that one out loud, because Mr. Longbottom chuckled.

"You're a great student, Beca, and a great person. Any school would be lucky to have you. Just think about it, okay?" He reached into his enormous stack of papers and passed a little brochure over to Beca.

_Barden University,_ she read off the cover. She looked up at Mr. Longbottom, and smiled softly.

"Thank you. A lot. No one… no one has ever really done anything like this for me, so thank you."

"You are most welcome. Look, Beca, this may seem a bit unprofessional, but if you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"You're free to go now."

Beca got up, still in a daze. _What just happened?_

* * *

She made her way, almost mechanically, out of school and headed towards the music store where she was employed. Beca had started working there after she had moved in with her newest family earlier in the year. The store wasn't exactly anything big, but the owner, Mr. Oakley, was a sweet man who let Beca try as many instruments as she liked. He even taught her how to play the guitar.

The bell atop the shop's door rang as Beca stepped inside.

"Ah, Beca, great timing. Can you help Ms Hannah here with something? She would like to purchase a guitar and isn't quite sure what she wants."

"Sure, no problem," Beca said, and got to work.

* * *

Hours later, as the clock announced the time as 7 o'clock, Mr. Oakley said, "Good job today, Beca. Will you be okay walking home alone?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay, then. See you tomorrow, kid."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Beca made her way out of the shop and started walking home. Halfway through, she looked at her watch and saw that it was almost eight. _Ah, fuck._ She didn't really have time to go back home. Instead, she changed her destination slightly and headed for the open field across from the house.

Some people would be terrified at the notion of an open, lonely field in the dark, but Beca was nothing like most people. She craved the solitude and quietness that the place provided. She had found it after she'd snuck out of the house during a particularly nasty fight, and it had been hers since the moment she laid eyes on it.

Once Beca had arrived, she unceremoniously dropped her bag to the ground and used it as a pillow to rest her head on. Looking up the stars, Beca heaved a sigh, and closed her eyes momentarily.

This was a constant occurrence for Beca; it was somewhat of a tradition, really. Every Friday, no matter where she was, Beca would always find herself staring at the stars. She really couldn't explain it, but she found more comfort staring up these massive balls of fire than she had ever felt from anything – or anyone – else before. She didn't talk, because she didn't _have_ to – she was looking at the stars. The stars knew everything already. They knew all the unspoken words that Beca longed to voice.

_Hey there. How've you been? I've been doing okay, well, better than I've been at least. My birthday is in a month, did you know that? 18. Long at last. You know, I really hope you're happy. I really do. Even if it's with someone who isn't me… God, I sound like a fucking cheese ball. See what you do to me? I'm only ever a sap for you. Ugh, why did I have to be so fucked up, huh? I keep saying that I don't want to find you and yet here I am every fucking Friday at 8 pm sharp, looking up at the stars, wondering if you're looking up at them too and spilling your heart out to me. I keep thinking maybe it's just better to stop doing this. It makes it harder for me. It makes the decision to not find you harder. I love you, and even though just the thought of you with someone else makes me cringe, I do hope you find someone. I wonder what you're like. I think about it. Not just how you look like, but I think whether or not you're my better half, because, you know, we were once parts of a whole, and if I'm this shitty, at least I hope you're happy. I hope you got the good half. I miss you. Is it weird to say that? To say I miss you? Well, I don't care. I don't care. I miss you._

* * *

**So what do you think? I know it may not seem like much, but I need to fill in the history of the story right, so that we can all understand the emotional conundrums in the story better. All weirdness in all of my writing should be attributed to three things: 1) I'm a Ravenclaw! 2) I'm studying physics and philosophy. and 3) I have a mechanics exam that I know nothing about...**

**Review, people!**

**If you have any questions/ suggestions or anything, let me know. And if you'd like to know more about how the necklaces work, I came up with rules and physic-y concepts that govern the idea of soulmates...**

**I'm on Tumblr physicistsserialshipping. tumblr. com**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello there lovely people. I do apologize for taking so long. Originally, I had planned to post this on the 2nd of May (Battle of Hogwarts), but I finished it late and the docx were bollocks! Also, I would like to point out that Chloe's POV is so much harder to write! **

**This is for my Beta, sunnywinterclouds, for saving me from letting my "foreignness show", because apparently the original breakfast I came up with was "ew! Who even eats that?" **

**Also, for YouJustGotPitchSlapped, because SHE CAME UP WITH A LIST.. And I love lists. And Miss-Statement, because long reviews are awesome... and because I may or may not have made her second guess everything. **

* * *

Certain objects all around us release odour in the form of molecules. The molecules travel throughout the air until they reach our noses, which have sensory cells, chemoreceptors, covered by a mucous membrane. The molecules dissolve and bind with the chemoreceptors, which passes on electrical impulses to the olfactory bulb in the brain. In turn, the olfactory bulb interprets patterns in electrical activity as specific odours and olfactory sensation becomes perception. But the olfactory bulb is also a part of the brain's limbic system, an area so closely associated with memory and feeling it's sometimes called the emotional brain. This is the reason why a smell can conjure up memories and powerful responses almost instantaneously.

The sleeping resident of 221B, Chloe Jean Beale, woke up to the invading smell of the fresh, griddle pan-fried pancakes. Led by the alluring odour, she got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen with her eyes closed, depending solely on her sensory memory for navigation.

"Mmmm, food," rasped Chloe, in a voice oddly resembling that of a zombie hunting for brains.

"Morning to you, too, Chloe," came a voice behind the counter, sounding slightly amused. She slapped Chloe's hand as it reached for her breakfast. "No, no, no. Get your hands off my pancakes. And it's crude to eat food with your hands. Go take a shower."

"But Aubrey…" whined Chloe, pouting."I'm hungry, and I'm so hung-over. I need food in my system, woman."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have drunk as much as you did last night." The blonde, Aubrey, put on her I-told-you-this-was-going-to-happen-and-I'm-not-happy-about-it face. "Go on. Take a shower and then you can have breakfast. Make it fast, though, it's gonna be a long day."

"Ugh, fine." Chloe stomped her feet like a child having a temper tantrum before making her way to the bathroom.

* * *

Aubrey Molly Posen and Chloe Jean Beale met in the sandbox at the age of four. Cliché, they both know, but true nonetheless. Chloe, ever the sociable kid, had approached the tight-lipped girl who sat alone.

_"Hey. I'm Chloe."_

_The four-year-old blonde looked up at Chloe, and without saying a word got back to digging a hole in the sand._

_"What are you doing? Are you building a castle? Oh, can I help? You know I once built this castle that was so big –"_

_Sighing, Aubrey realized that the girl, Chloe, was not about to give up. "I'm looking for artefacts actually."_

_"Oh." Chloe was silent for a moment. "…What are afracts?"_

_Rather than correct the girl on her atrocious pronunciation, Aubrey said, "They're human-made objects of historical or cultural relevance." She hoped the definition would be enough to make the girl lose interest and leave her alone, but no such luck._

_"Ha! That's funny. You're funny." Chloe laughed for some unforeseen reason. "We're going to be friends now," she decided, with a certain air of sureness that left no room for argument._

_"Let's look for afracts." Grabbing one of Aubrey's beach toys, she quickly started digging a new hole._

_The blonde stared at Chloe for a while, not quite sure what to say. Should she tell her the word was artefacts, not afracts? Should she yell at her to leave her alone? Should she throw sand in her face and stomp off? Ultimately, she opted for grabbing her plastic shovel and refocusing on her quest._

They'd been friends ever since.

To this day Chloe insists that Aubrey was just waiting for the redhead to talk to her, and to this day Aubrey avidly denies it.

_"Just admit it, you were so happy that I came to talk to you! You couldn't wait to be my friend."_

_"Oh, please! The only reason I let you play with me that day was because I felt bad for you. You seemed like a psycho!"_

* * *

More than fifteen years later, the two were still the best of friends. To an outsider, it seemed like the two couldn't be more different if they tried.

Chloe was warm, and radiant, and sparkling, and lively. She was full of life and her smile never wavered. People fawned over her wherever she went, and she thrived in the attention.

Aubrey was all logic, and brains-before-heart, and analytical in the way she viewed things. She spoke of realistic possibilities, and her frown, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her father, was perpetually present.

But they balanced each other out just right. Aubrey was the gravity that attached Chloe to Earth, and knew when that ever-present smile on her face wasn't real. She was the one who knew what Chloe looked like after she ran out of energy, when she was all broken… and Aubrey was the one that always held her together.

Chloe was the colour in Aubrey's life. She was the bright light, the smiles, and the rare laughs. Chloe was the one who knew about the sleepless nights, the tears, the pressure, and the insecurities. And Chloe… Chloe was always there.

Ever since they'd met, they'd shared an unspoken promise to always be there for one another. So that day when Chloe casually mentioned Barden and how she'd like to go there, Aubrey knew that Barden was where _they_ were going. It didn't matter that her dad wanted her to go to Harvard, like he once had. It didn't matter that Aubrey had never stood up to him. Aubrey knew, deep down in her heart, that for Chloe, she would stand up against the world.

The two had been sharing a dorm since freshman year. Now juniors, the two had moved to an on-campus apartment. Living with Chloe wasn't exactly easy. She was messy. She _always_ left her clothes all over the place. She had no sense of responsibility. She drank too much and partied too hard. And yet, Aubrey wouldn't have it any other way. Chloe may have been a mess, but she was _her_ mess.

Chloe made her way back to the kitchen, her hair still dripping wet from her shower.

"There, I took a shower. Gimmee my food now." Chloe's face was a mixture a strange mixture of demanding and desperate, which made Aubrey chuckle.

"Here you go." Aubrey handed Chloe a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, which had been Chloe's favourite ever since she could chew. Before the plate had even touched the table, Chloe was shovelling in her breakfast like a she hadn't eaten in years.

"Oh, Gods! It's so good." Chloe moaned. "Where are you going?" Chloe swallowed heavily, before asking Aubrey who was walking towards the door. "Aren't you going to get something to eat?"

"I already had my coffee," Aubrey replied. "Woke up early, you know?" The jibe at Chloe's tendency to sleep in late was subtle but still there. "I have a class in twenty minutes. Yours start in about an hour, so finish eating and get ready. Oh, and don't forget Bella practice today at five. Be on time. I will not tolerate another lecture from Alice. See you then, sunshine." Aubrey waved Chloe goodbye and she was out of the house.

Chloe continued to eat her breakfast. After she was done, she headed to her room. She put on her clothes, matching a true-blue sweater with a pair of jeans, and made her way across campus to her first class. Philosophy.

* * *

"Morning, everyone," greeted Professor Shoff as she made her way into the classroom. "Today we'll be discussing the topic of soulmates. Now, we all know what our necklaces are supposed to do. Yes, they indicate when we meet our soulmates by glowing and merging with their necklaces, but what I'm interested in today is understanding why they glow. We will talk about the science behind it, but I also want to talk a little bit more about the implications of living in a world with soulmates. Now, we all know how our necklaces can indicate our soulmates, but little of us actually realize the physics behind it. Let's talk about the law of conservation of energy. Anyone?" She asked. "Yes, Helen."

"Well, the law of conservation of energy basically says that energy cannot be created from void nor destroyed and it changes from one form to the other," answered Helen Baldwin.

"Yes. Thank you, Helen, that's the simplest way to put it. But what does that mean? Anyone? No?" She looked around, seeing no raised hands. "Okay, let me ask you this. Do you believe there's a finite amount of energy in the universe? Liam, yes."

"I think so. I think the universe definitely has a finite amount of energy."

"Okay. Peter, I'm seeing a frown over there. What do you think?"

"I'm just thinking, why would there be a definite amount of energy if the Gods could just supply the universe with more."

"But why would the Gods supply the universe with more energy? They need to sustain it. In a sense more energy means more power, right? And the Gods don't exactly have a very good history with giving us power. I mean, isn't that why they ripped us apart? And besides, the energy they gave when they created the universe is still around, isn't it? That's an essential part of the law of conservation of energy" This came from Natalie, a girl near the back of the class.

"Good point, Natalie. So how do you think the Gods supplied the energy? Would you say they put certain energies in everything? Or do you think they just paved the way for the energy to spread around the universe? Chloe?"

"I think they just paved the way. They may have had something to start with. Anything. But I think all they had to do at some point was just sit and watch. They may have set things up, but then the Big Bang happened and they just sat there watching."

"Okay, do we all agree on that?" Everyone nodded their heads. "Great. So let's recap. There's a finite amount of energy in the universe. The Gods may have paved the way for this energy to create the universe, but they did not spread it out themselves. What does this mean for the universe though? Sam?"

"I think it means that everything has energy in it. The book, the table, the chair, everything."

"Excellent point. But let me build upon that conclusion, don't we have that energy inside us?" Professor Shoff paused. "Gods! I'm loving the looks of shock on your faces." The class chuckled softly. "Yes, Castile."

"But if we have the energy inside us, the same energy that constitutes the very existence of the universe, doesn't that mean we're one with the universe? That we're one with the book and the chair and the table and the sky and the water and the tree and everything?"

"That's a great question. What do you think?" The professor redirected the question towards the class.

"I think it does. I think it means we're one with everything" commented Lucy.

"But isn't that the same definition some religions use for the Gods? They, or He, are everywhere, in everything, they take all forms and shapes. So does that mean the Gods are energy too? And if they are and we share the same characteristics, does that make us half-Gods?" Chloe asked in confusion.

"Again, a great question. Are we half-Gods? If we share the same energy with the universe and the Gods, doesn't that make us Gods ourselves? Yes, Percy."

"Yes, I think that does make us Gods. But which part of us exactly has the energy?"

"I'm going answer that," exclaimed Professor Shoff, all excited now. "I think the source of the pure energy inside us is not something physical, rather it is what we may call souls. I believe our physical bodies are only a manifestation of that energy. What do you guys think?" Again, everyone seemed to nod their heads. "Great. So since we all agree that there's a finite amount of energy, and that our souls harbour energy, what can we conclude from this?"

"I think we can safely make a conclusion that there's also a finite number of souls," answered Katelynn.

"But given the Earth's age, wouldn't the physical bodies of all souls have been already depleted?" asked Thuggory.

"Unless we take reincarnation into the equation. The amount of souls is definite, but they go through different forms of existence, which agrees with the law of conservation of energy," Natalie spoke up again.

"That's an excellent answer," said Professor Shoff. "Now, I want to take us back to the topic of soulmates. We all know that the Gods grew scared of our increasing strength as a whole and so they decided to cut us down to halves. We also know that they gave us necklaces to better our chances at finding our other halves. Recent discoveries show that the reason our necklaces glow is energy. Simple as that. Now, science has yet to define the exact source of energy, but taking into account everything we've talked about today, I would like to hear what you have to say. Helen?"

"I think the energy comes from within us, from our souls, and their manifestation into the glow that comes from our necklaces is merely another form that energy takes."

"But how would the energy recognise a certain person?" asked Peter.

"I think it goes back to the fact that we were once whole. I think our souls call out to each other. I think meeting your soulmate has the same effect on our energy as the excited electrons have on the nucleus of the atom," answered Chloe.

"I actually agree with Chloe. I think our souls recognise each other. I think the sheer energy of missing each other is enough to alert our necklaces. But I think that once the longing is kind of sated, it takes more work to make our necklaces glow again. I think we need to fall in love with the person again for our necklaces to glow more than just once." This was all from Sam.

"That's a very good point. Great work, Chloe and Sam. I agree with both of you. I think even though we're born in a world with soulmates, it takes actual work to make things happen. Which actually sets us up perfectly for our next topic. I want you all to take a moment to think about this. In a world with soulmates, do we have a say in who we love? Or are we governed by fate?" The question was followed by a short lapse of silence as everyone contemplated it. "Liam, what do you think?"

"As much as I'd like to believe that we do have a choice, I think at the end of the day we don't. We're meant to truly fall in love with one person, because some millions of years ago, we were one." He said this somewhat sulkily, like he wasn't pleased by his own opinion.

"I don't think we need one. I think if we were given the chance to choose between our soulmates and anyone else, we would still choose our soulmates," commented Lucy.

"Okay, but the real question here is why would we choose our soulmates? Is it because we are, in fact, in love with them, or are we compelled to love them, the same way anyone would love a part of their essence?" Professor Shoff directed the conversation.

The class fell to silence as everyone thought about the proposed question.

"Let me try another way around this. Do you believe it's possible to fall in love with someone who isn't your soulmate?"

"I don't know; this is really confusing," whined Castile. "On one hand, I think that yes, we can fall in love with people who aren't our soulmates, on the other hand, my mind is screaming it's not true love."

"I actually completely believe that we can fall in love with people who aren't our soulmates," said Thuggory. "My parents aren't soulmates but they love each other dearly. I've never felt that their feelings for each other were trivial or any less. On the contrary, they seem to be so in love with each other that I would consider myself lucky to ever have what they have."

"I'm sorry; I really don't mean to offend anyone, but I feel as if it would be somewhat unfair to fall in love with someone who isn't my soulmate. I mean, it will always be in the back of my mind that there's someone out there who is the one for me. And I don't even want to think about my soulmate looking, or waiting for me while I'm with someone else. What if after I fall in love with someone, I meet my soulmate? Wouldn't that just break all of the hearts involved in the equation?" Percy asked.

"I think we ought to be a bit realistic here. We all know the chances of finding our soulmates are not always that high. If we all just sat around and waited for our soulmates, the human race would have gone extinct a long time ago. Now, I don't think that belittles any feelings people have for each other. Soulmates or not, having feelings for someone is what it is.'' This was from Katelynn, the logical one of the bunch.

The sound of whispers rose all over the class as people got into the discussion.

"Hold on. Hold on. Let's summarize what we have now." Professor Shoff took charge of the conversation. "I asked whether we can fall in love with people who aren't our soulmates. Some of you passionately believe we can. Others think we can only find true love with our soulmates. Correct?" They mumbled their agreement. "Okay. Now, I want you to work as two groups to come up with two arguments for the two stances and have someone present your argument. You have ten minutes."

The classroom was filled with noise as people moved around the classroom to form the groups and more noises as they discussed things within themselves.  
"Okay, time's up," announced Professor Shoff shortly. "So, those who believe we can fall in love with other people," she looked at the side of the room with Katelynn, Thuggory, Helen, Peter and Natalie. "Do you have your argument ready?"

"Yes, we do," answered Peter.

"And will you be the one presenting your argument, Peter?"

"Yes."

"Great. Go for it."

"We feel that it is possible for a person to fall in love with someone who isn't their soulmate. We all would like to recall that, as concluded earlier, even with soulmates, people have to fall in love for their necklaces to glow. We feel that this is strong evidence that being someone's soulmate is not enough to build a relationship with someone. So, aside from the initial momentum that soulmates acquire at the beginning by the simple fact that they are soulmates, all couples stand on common grounds. Soulmates have to work to fall in love, and so does everyone else. It might be harder for non-soulmate couples to take the conscious decision to be together, but that's because the media only portrays one type of love and belittles the other. In the end, we feel that non-soulmates, especially those of a young age, may feel pressure to not be together, in fear of the general public who judges them or looks down on them because they, and I quote, settled for less or gave up. Finally, we would also like to point out that a lot of us are descendants of non-soulmates, and most of us can testify that their parents loved each other passionately." Peter's speech was steady and even.

"Thank you, Peter. Great argument and great work, guys!" Professor Shoff turned to Chloe's group, which also consisted of Lucy, Percy, Castile, Liam, and Sam. "Are you guys ready to go against that?"

"Yes," answered Chloe. "I will be speaking on behalf of my group, too."

"Great! Just start whenever you're ready."

"First of all, we would like to mention that it is, by no means, our purpose to depreciate any form of love. We recognise that a lot of us have parents, family, or friends that are non-soulmates and we have utter respect for them. It is, however, our belief that people can only fall in love with their soulmates. It is true that we can love other people, but we can only fall in love with our soulmates. They're love. They're our love. They're the origin of the love that lies within our souls. They're the completion. As cliché as it may sound, they're the puzzle piece to the jigsaw of our existence. When we're born, our souls call out to them, so that at the exact same time, probably down to the second, their souls come to this world too. That's why our soulmates' birthdays are always on the same day, even if they're a couple of years apart. Is there any greater love than this? Our very existence is because their soul calls out to ours in longing, and hunger. They're the other halves. They split open the wounds of being ripped apart and remind us of what it felt like to be torn. But it is that burning pain of separation that drives us to them, that makes us try over and over with every look, with every touch, with every kiss to merge so completely and try so hard to shove ourselves back together. We think you can build a relationship, a family with anyone of your choice. We think your affection is yours to give. But the one time you won't get to choose, is the one time you will truly fall." Chloe got the whole speech out without taking a single breath, and she took a moment to breathe in deeply when it was over. As she looked around the class, most of them appeared stunned to silence by the passion and fire behind Chloe's eyes.

"—And there's that." Professor Shoff got out. "Okay! This was some class! Your finals are in a few weeks. Please study! You can all go now. Great job today, everyone."

* * *

Chloe packed her things and was making her way out of the classroom when she was stopped by Lucy. "Hey Chlo, that was WOW!"

"Oh hey Lucy." Chloe chuckled. "Thanks."

"Really Chloe, WOW! Anyway, the party last night was totally awesome, girl!" Lucy exclaimed.

"Oh my God! Yes! It was so much fun!" Chloe got out excitedly.

"There's another party today at the Alpha Beta house. You in?" Asked Lucy.

"I don't know. I will have to check with Aubrey first. You know how she is." Answered Chloe.

"Okay. Well, text me if you're coming. Hope to see you then! Anyway, I have to run. I have class in like 10 minutes."

"Oh me too actually. I'll text you later. See you."

* * *

Chloe's morning classes flew by and before she knew it, Chloe was making her way towards the auditorium for the Bellas' practice.

The Barden Bellas were an all-female A Capella group. The Bellas had been the first all-female A Capella group in the entire east coast. They had a history and had made a name for themselves by competing against men in the late 50's. They had won several competitions and were regarded as one of the most prestigious A Capella groups in the country. They weren't exactly living up to their reputation at the moment, though. The Barden Bellas had always stuck to tradition, maybe a bit too much. Wearing a flight attendant suit and singing songs only by women had been revolutionary in the 50's… in late 2010, not so much. Chloe and Aubrey had both auditioned for the Barden Bellas in their freshmen year. Chloe had been obsessed with the history of the Bellas; she had read all about them. Aubrey liked their commitment best. They had always loved singing and being in the musically renowned Barden University definitely had its perks.

"Oh what an honour it is to finally have you here with us, Chloe," snapped Alice the moment she spotted Chloe near the doorway. "Tell me, are my instructions not clear or are you just this stupid? Practice starts at five, not six, not four, and not five fifteen!" She continued shouting at Chloe, who shrank a little.

"I'm sorry, Alice, I just got caught up in class. The professor wanted to talk about finals and…"

"Shut up! You don't actually think I care about your pathetic excuses, do you? Listen, redhead, we're in the finals for the ICAA, and I will not have two stupid, useless aca-bitches ruin it for me. Clear?" She directed her glare firmly at Aubrey and Chloe.

"Yes, Alice. It's perfectly clear," replied Aubrey.

"Good! Now get in position; we don't have all day."

The girls scrambled to take their positions.

"Right! On three. Start the dance from top. And one, and two, and…"

* * *

"Okay! Practice over," announced Alice. "Chloe, Aubrey, wait up a minute."

Chloe and Aubrey exchanged nervous looks before moving to stand in front of Alice. "Listen up, this is my last chance at the ICAA, and you two better not fuck up. You just do what we practice, exactly like we practice it. Believe me, you don't want to mess with me. Do you understand?" Her voice was full of venom, and her face was icy and hard.

"Yes, we do," whispered Aubrey. Alice turned to Chloe with an expectant look on her face.

"Yes, we understand, Alice." Her voice, too, came out in a whisper.

"Good! Now get the fuck out of here."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Chloe groaned.

"Ugh! What an aca-bitch!" Aubrey exclaimed. "You okay?".

"Yeah, I think I am," she answered, pretty much truthfully. "Do you have any more classes today?"

"Nope. Want to head home?"

"There was actually this party that Lucy from Philosophy invited me to. Can we go? Please?" She played up her pouting face, even though she knew Aubrey was pretty much immune to it. Pretty much.

Before Aubrey could answer, though, Chloe remembered something way more important than any party. "Wait what time is it?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as panicked as she felt.

"It's seven thirty." Aubrey answered, looking slightly confused. Then it dawned on her, and her eyes widened. "Today is Friday!"

"Exactly!" Chloe said, now properly freaking out. "I've got to go. I'll see you at home, okay?"

"Okay. Don't be out too late!" She had to shout that last part, as Chloe was already running off towards the lake.

* * *

Chloe got to the other side of campus in record time. "Seriously, I should be running in the Olympics or something," she said aloud to herself, as she often did.

Barden University had a beautiful campus. Lake Andrews was just one of the many spots that made the place breath taking. Surrounded by trees, the lake was almost a hidden gem that only a few paid visits to. But this was Chloe's place. It had been Chloe's place since she had first seen it during freshmen year's orientation. Every Friday, at eight p.m. sharp, Chloe would make her way here. She would then lie on her back and stare up the stars. It had been Chloe's thing since as long as she could remember. Long before starting college, no matter what was going on, this was how she would always spend her Friday nights.

"Hey, beautiful. How've you been? I've been doing great! I'm just a bit worried about finals. I've been studying hard, though, I promise. I'm still worried. Are you looking up at the stars too right now? I like to think you are. I need to tell you a few thing.. You better not keep me waiting any longer, okay? I miss you. I want you. I just wish I could wrap you in my arms and feel yours wrap around mine. And you'd hold me tight, and I would put my head on your shoulder. Or we could watch the stars together! You so better not be messing around with anyone. I'm not the jealous type, but... okay, maybe a little bit, just you better be keeping all of you to me, because I'm keeping everything in me to just you. Just come to me already. I'm tired of waiting, babe. I can't seem to find you. Are you looking for me? You better be! Just, come to me, okay? I'm here and I love you and I want you and I need you. Just come to me already. I miss you."

* * *

**I got a question "is there a difference between children of "not soulmate"-parents/"soulmate"-parents and them finding there respective soulmates? " and the answer is nope! One's chances of finding his/her soulmate are not affected by their parents. **

**Keep the reviews coming! **

**Also, I'm on Tumblr: physicistsserialshipping. tumblr. com**


	5. Chapter 5

**Man, it's been sooo long! I'm sorry. I sincerely apologize. I had really late exams and I'm getting ready to move away for college which is halfway across the freaking globe! Anyway, the chapter is very long so I hope that kind of makes up for it.. It's also very sad, so maybe not so much. This was co-written with Sunnywinterclouds. As always, reviews are awesome..**

* * *

By taking two, insignificantly small, points in the Euclidean Space, we may be able to construct an infinite number of lines; lines of different shapes, sizes, and directions; lines that run parallel, perpendicular, and intersect each other at all angles. For two lines to be parallel, there's a set of conditions that they must satisfy. Firstly, both lines must lie on the same plane. Secondly, no matter what may happen, the two lines could never meet. Even if stretched to infinity, there will be no points of intersection between two parallel lines. It's safe to say that for two parallel lines to come together, a miracle is needed.

* * *

The day had started just like any other day.

Beca woke up to the sound of her _annoying-as-fuck_ but assiduous alarm clock, which frowned slightly when it received none of the usual threats of murder nor the vivid description of how much joy she would experience from nuking it. Instead, Beca simply sat up in bed, her feet dangling off the edge, too short to touch the ground. She flattened her palms against the mattress. Her grip tightened slightly, scrunching the material between her fingers. Beca heaved a sigh as she glanced towards the calendar that stood atop her chest of drawers. The day had been marked with a big, red, dramatic X.

Today was the day.

She quietly made her way out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. Soon the sound of the drizzling water filled her ears. Beca tried to focus on that rather than the growing cacophony of the intense argument taking place meters away.

She had managed to stray away from those for the past couple of months. It seemed inevitable today, though.

* * *

Rick and Marry had met in high school. Their necklaces had glowed as soon as their eyes had met and they had fallen in love. Despite the lack of support from their families, they had decided to tie the knot right after Marry became pregnant. It hadn't been easy back then; they both had to work day and night to make ends meet, but they managed to stay together. They loved each other too much to give up. And by the time their daughter, Rue, had opened her eyes for the first time, Rick had managed a steady job and they had finally moved to a better house. It wasn't some sort of white-picket-fence house with two and a half acres of land, but it was something, and it was theirs, and that was enough for them. As Rue grew older, the flame of love between her parents only burned brighter. They were happy. They were together. And they wouldn't have changed a thing.

Needless to say, the happiness didn't last. Beca wasn't all that surprised. She had seen enough of the world to know that happiness never lasts _because life isn't a fucking fairytale._

It was Rue's fifteenth birthday and the family had been out to celebrate. And after a movie that Rue had been dying to see and dinner, they had all gotten in the car, ready to drive home. But they couldn't have known that this particular car ride would be their last as a family. They couldn't have known that at the exact moment Rick turned on the engine, a drunk, angry man was starting his. They couldn't have known that a car would come crashing right into theirs. But they could see. The couple could see Rue's lifeless body fall to the ground. They could see their entire life falling along with it.

Days, nights, weeks, months of tears, of grief, of blame, of sadness managed to destroy every last bit of their marriage. Each dealt with the situation in their own way, Rick subduing his sadness with alcohol and Marry retreating into a world of her own.

Their close friends intervened, wanting to help their friends. Over the last three years, they had tried just about everything with little success. Their marriage reached a breaking point about a year ago, when Marry had finally decided to file for divorce. Rick had begged her to stay, promising to become sober, to change. And as a final effort to save their marriage they had decided to try adoption. Their efforts were futile and bringing an adopted teen into the equation didn't make anything better. Instead, it was more of a constant reminder of what they lost. Rick continued drinking, and Marry continued hiding.

* * *

_"I'm just so tired of this. You treat this house like a fucking hotel room. You're out all night doing god-knows-what and you're always drunk and I am tired, Rick. I'm tired."_

_"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'll be sober. I'll try. I'll go to AA meetings, I promise, just please put that bag down."_

Beca continued to get ready, ignoring the lives that were definitely exploding around her. She heard the door slam, and moments later a frustrated roar filled the house.

Silently, Beca made her way out of the room, her backpack around her shoulders. She did a little dance around the broken glass on the ground that'd come from god-knows-where, and took a look at the huddled figure on the sofa before trying to sneak past it.

"She left," Rick whispered, not looking up, halting Beca's attempts at a silent exit.

"I noticed," replied Beca.

"Do you think she might come back?"

"No."

"I fucked up, didn't I? I just don't know how to deal with it." He buried his face in his hands, but Beca heard his muffled sob anyway.

Beca stood awkwardly in front of him, not knowing what to say to comfort the man. The silence stretched over them.

"Um, look, I… I'm late for school. I'd better get going." If she were better with words, or emotions, or people, she'd do something to make this better, but she wasn't, so she didn't. Instead, she tried once again to slip out through the door.

"Beca," Rick called after her, stopping her for the second time.

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday. Rue would have been eighteen today too. Oh, and good luck, I know today is the last day at school." He took his face out of his hands to give her a weak, encouraging smile, and Beca's stomach churned.

"Yeah. Yeah. Um, yeah. Thank you." She sprinted more than walked towards the door and rubbed her temples with her forefingers.

That was the first time Beca had ever seen him like… like… like a human being. Rick the prick, as she usually called him, was a senseless, drunk, useless, and awful man. He wasn't this emotional train-wreck who remembered her birthday and wished her good luck before she left. She was more than a little surprised at the man's bipolar behaviour, and she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

* * *

By the time Beca arrived at school, she was still thinking about the conversation (if you could classify it as such) she had with Rick. She was so focused on ruminating over the words they had exchanged that she didn't notice the person in front of her until she had run directly into them.

"Watch it, dyke!" exclaimed the girl, a tall, attractive blonde that Beca knew by the name Brittany.

"Sorry." Beca whispered.

"Hey, what do we have here?" Came the voice of no other than John Parkinson. "Is this little dyke hitting on you baby?" He asked his girlfriend. His eyes, however, remained trained on Beca.

"The bitch just ran into me."

"Now, now, Beca, what did I tell you about hitting on my girl huh?" He asked menacingly, moving closer to her.

"I wasn't hitting on anyone. It was an accident." She was desperate to escape the situation before it got way out of hand.

"I think you're lying to me. I think you're lying and I don't like liars, Beca." He continued to move closer and closer until he was right in her personal space.

"I'm not lying. I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry."

"_Liar_." John growled, slamming Beca's back into the wall and holding her by the collar as students trickled from all around to watch. "Apologize, bitch."

"I already said I'm sorry." Beca said defiantly.

"Didn't sound sorry enough for me. Did she sound sorry enough for you baby?" He turned around looking to Brittany.

"Nope. Not sorry enough." The blonde answered him with a smirk.

"See, Beca? Now apologize."

"No."

"What? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear well enough. What did you just say to me? Because that didn't sound like an apology."

"I said no. I'm not apologizing."

John slammed Beca harder into the wall. "Well, then, you're getting what you deserve." Just as he raised his fist to punch the daylights out of Beca, the bell rang, and a teacher was suddenly ushering all students away for classes.

"Saved by the bell," John said, but he didn't seem disappointed; in fact, he was smirking as he let Beca's collar go. "This isn't over, Mitchell."

Beca groaned internally as she watched him swagger away before making her way to class. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

Beca's day had started out lousy, so of course the rest of it decided to follow suit. Not only had Beca been yelled at for being late to chemistry class, but she had managed to spill god-knows-what on her skin during an experiment and it itched like hell despite Mr. Finnegan crossly telling her it wasn't harmful (and to please be more careful next time). Someone had mysteriously managed to break into her locker, tear apart all her books, and write obscenities all over her stuff. Beca was, to be completely honest, more appalled by the spelling atrocities than the insults themselves –_ how stupid did you have to be to misspell whore? Hore? Really?_ But, yes, her day had ranked at least a 6 on the awfulness spectrum, and so when the bell finally announced the end of it, Beca let out a relieved sigh. She was ready to get out of there as fast and far as possible.

"Hey, Becky, you're not leaving me, are you? We have some unfinished business to attend to."

Make that a 6 and a half. Beca quickened her pace towards the exit.

John caught up to her, though, taking hold of her arm and spinning her around. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, dyke."

Snatching her arm out of John's grip, Beca forced on a façade of calmness. "What do you want, John?"

"I think you know what I want, Becky," John spat. "I want my apology." He grabbed her by the arm again, hard. This was becoming a full-on 7, and Beca decided that sucking up her pride and apologizing was probably the only way to get out of the situation unscathed.

"Fine, I'm sorry. Now let me go."

"I'd love to, Beca. I really would. But you see, I don't think you're sorry at all here and I need to make sure that what happened this morning doesn't happen again."

"It won't. It was just an accident—"

"Uh-uh, Beca. What did I say about lying? Tell you what, why don't we try a more permanent solution to our little predicament here?" He backed Beca into the wall. The school was fairly empty by this point – it was just Beca, John, and his gang of idiots.

"What do you mean?" Beca was legitimately freaking now, her heartbeat having increased about tenfold.

"I mean, if I just let you go you'll hit on my girl some more and—"

"I won't. It was an accident, John."

John suddenly pushed Beca backwards, and her head hit the back of the wall with a loud _thud_ that reverberated through both the hallway and her skull. She saw stars for a moment, before everything came back into focus and she was looking into John's hard eyes.

"Don't interrupt me!" he bellowed. Raising his hands to Beca's face, caressing her cheeks in a sort of intimidating way, his voice softened slightly. "Even if you don't hit on Brittany, you'll hit on other girls and I can't have that. You understand, Beca, don't you? We need a permanent solution." His hands held Beca's head in place as he inched his face closer. "It's a public service, really. You'll thank me later." He moved to close the gap and connect his lips with Beca, but if there was one thing in the world that Beca wouldn't stand for, it was this. Before he could actually kiss her, she kneed him in the groin and _sprinted_.

"Aaaaargh!" screamed John, curling over himself in a foetal position. "That _bitch_!" The two cronies he had with him helped him up, and he looked around furiously.

"Which way did she go?" he snarled as the three of them ran down the hall.

"That way," pointed Gloss, a tall, athletically-built boy.

Beca was running as fast as she could. She had no sense of direction, no idea if she was being chased, no idea if she would get in trouble for this; she didn't care. She just needed to get away.

"There she is!" shouted Tirek, a gigantic guy with more muscles than brains.

"Can't get away from me, Becky," called John.

Beca glanced back at the three charging guys. She knew she had no chance of outrunning them. _Fight or flight? Fight or flight? Fight—_

She shouldn't have been thinking so hard, though – she should have been looking where she was going. Beca's train of thought was cut short when she tripped and hit the ground.

"We've got you now, Becky." Beca tried to get back on her feet as quickly as possible, but it was too late. Tirek and Gloss quickly moved in, each grabbing one of Beca's shoulders and holding her up, facing John.

Curling his fingers into a fist, John delivered the first blow to Beca's stomach, making her inhale unevenly in pain. "That wasn't very nice of you, Becky. Hitting me and running away like that! And here I was just offering to help you. Guess we'll have to do this the hard way, huh?" Beca had anticipated the second punch, but it still hurt just as much. She cried out in agony.

Raising his fist once again so it was level with Beca's face, John whispered, "You know, I hate doing this. You do have a pretty face." He trailed his eyes hungrily over Beca's lips.

John was pushing his fist back to gain momentum, and Beca closed her eyes. She could feel tears welling there, but she wouldn't shed them. She wouldn't. No matter what they did to her, they would not make her cry.

* * *

"What's going on here?" came a panicked voice from the end of the hall. Beca opened her eyes immediately. Mr Longbottom was making his way towards the group of teenagers at a pace that rivalled a highway speed limit. "What are you boys doing? Let her go, right now." Had Beca been in her right mind, she would have taken notice of the fact that this was the first time she had ever seen Mr Longbottom angry.

The two boys holding Beca up let go instantly. Their eyes were wide with panic and fear – as much as they made fun of Mr Longbottom, he was a teacher. "Come with me. Right now." He ushered the three of them to his office and locked them in before turning to face Beca.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. His brown eyes were wide with concern.

At that point, Beca broke down. She had been scared—so scared. The tears that she had been keeping at bay found their way out and she clutched at Mr Longbottom so tightly, weeping into the man's chest because she couldn't reach his shoulder.

"Shhh," he whispered soothingly. "I'm here now. It's okay." He gently placed his hand on the back of Beca's head, who winced slightly.

Mr Longbottom pulled away, alarmed. "Did they hurt you?" His eyes flared in a strange mixture of anger and sympathy.

Beca shook her head slightly, the action causing a headache to flare. She reached up to dry her tears, wiping her face in the sleeve of her black cardigan.

"I'll call the principal right now."

"The principal? You should be calling the fucking police!" Beca shouted. She didn't want to be scared or sad or fragile, she wanted to be mad. And she was.

"I can't do that, Beca. The principal… he'd be very upset if I called the police without his consent."

"Upset? _Him_? Are you for real?" She glared at him. "Those assholes in there just physically assaulted me! _I'm_ the one who should be upset!" She hated that her voice broke towards the end. _Mad, Beca. Stay mad._

"I know, I know. The principal will call the cops, I'm sure of it. But he has to do it, not me." He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't just let this go by, Beca. I promise."

Beca's eyes had welled up again, and she wasn't sure she could manage any verbal communication at the moment without falling apart. So she just nodded instead.

* * *

The principal, Mr. Weseltone, was a short, round man with squinty eyes and a limp. He only ever had money on his mind, and it was common knowledge that he spent most of his time kissing up to rich, powerful parents.

"I assure you, Mr. Parkinson, that I called you first," he was saying as he ushered John's father into his office. "I thought you'd appreciate keeping the police and the media away from this."

John, who'd already been waiting in the room, rushed over to his father. "Dad!" He took a firm stance by his side and, with his father as back up, sent a harsh glare towards Mr. Longbottom and Beca.

Mr. Parkinson ignored his son, turning his gaze towards Mr. Weseltone. "Yes, I appreciate it very much, Mr. Weseltone, and I am sure Mr. Cain and Mr. Muller would as well." He turned to look at Gloss and Tirek. "However, I am still confused as to the reason you called me here. What happened?"

Mr. Longbottom jumped in. "Your son physically assaulted another student, Mr. Parkinson, and had I not been there—"

"Longbottom!" Mr. Weseltone interrupted loudly. "_Physical assault_ is a bit of a stretch, wouldn't you agree? I assure you, Mr. Parkinson, that that is not the case. It appears the boys were just involved in a typical teenage quarrel with Ms. Mitchell here."

"_Typical quarrel_?" Beca let slip angrily. Mr. Longbottom had told her not to say anything, but this… she couldn't just _sit_ there and do nothing. "Your psychopathic, pathetic, cowardice excuse of a son decided to team up with assholes one and two here and come at me!"

"Young lady, do not speak out of order." Mr. Weseltone said. His voice was hard, and the way he looked at Beca just made her angrier.

"Out of order? You're a fucking coward yourself, you piece of shit. I should be calling the cops on all of you." Beca was too furious at this point to realize she wasn't exactly helping her case.

Mr. Parkinson appeared to be calm despite the tantrum Beca was throwing. "Got quite the attitude, don't you?" he said to her, his voice tinged with amusement. He was _amused_ by her.

Beca gave him the finger.

"Ms. Mitchell, wait for me outside," Mr. Weseltone ordered.

"No." Beca said.

"Beca," Mr. Longbottom whispered. "Maybe it's better if you wait outside."

Beca turned to him and narrowed her eyes. "Oh, so you're in this, too, are you?"

"Beca, please," he whispered softly. "Please, I think you're making things worse. Just wait for me in my office. I'll keep my promise." He stared steadily into Beca's eyes, wanting her to believe him.

She broke. "Okay. Fine."

* * *

"So, what happened?" Beca asked as soon as Mr. Longbottom walked into his office with a box in his hands. She'd been pacing, going through his drawers, and chewing on her fingernails for the last half hour.

Longbottom stared at Beca hollowly before moving over to his desk. He wordlessly started shuffling his endless papers around before placing them in his giant box.

"Nothing," he whispered finally, still with his back to Beca. It took her a moment to register his words.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch between them.

"They walked away. Weseltone let them walk away." There was more quietness for a moment. "Something about John being eighteen and how he doesn't deserve to go to jail. It's all bullshit. Weseltone will be getting a shitload of money for covering this up." It was the first time Beca had ever heard Longbottom, or any teacher for that matter, curse. And had she been in her right mind, she would have commented on how today had a lot of firsts for Longbottom, but she kept her silence.

"Beca," he whispered. Finally turning around to face Beca, he moved his hand to place it on her shoulder. She snatched her arm away.

"Don't." She searched for words, words to make him hurt like she did, but she couldn't find them "You promised," she finally managed, and Mr. Longbottom shrunk back in a way that made her angry. "You _promised_! Fuck you, Longbottom. Fuck Weseltone and _fuck you_. I'll go to the police myself."

"Wait." He caught her arm again, and this time didn't let go when she tried to jerk him off. "Beca, think this through. Those boys come from very powerful families. Gloss's dad is a senator, the Parkinsons own more than half of the town. And you…" He paused. It didn't matter, though, because Beca knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm just the bitter, gay, adopted teenager. Right?" She looked him in the eye, willing him to correct her. Willing him to tell her otherwise.

He didn't.

"Yes. That's how _they _see it. Beca, if you go to the police, no one will believe you. It will be your word against theirs and with Weseltone on their side, you don't stand a chance."

"But you saw what they were doing. You saw it." Her anger was gone, replaced with this hollow, empty feeling of knowing she was done. "You _saw it._"

"I never saw them physically assaulting you, Beca. It would never hold up in court even without their hotshot lawyers, and you know that."

"So, what? I just walk away and let it go?"

"I'm not saying… that you have to let it go. You can hold onto this forever, and I'm sure you will. But… you have to walk away from it. You have to promise you won't make anything of it. It won't end well for you."

Beca swallowed heavily as Longbottom turned around and continued putting things in his box. She watched as he moved on from document to figurines to letters from students in his desk.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, as he finished cleaning out his drawers. It was easier to think about that than… _that._

"I quit."

"You did _what?_"

"I quit." He turned around once more. "I couldn't take it. The corruption, what they did to you… it wasn't fair. I quit."

"So not only do you break your promise, but you also walk away." Beca looked at him in disgust. "You're no better than any of them, you know that? ... You're just a fucking coward yourself." She regarded the man with a final glare, before turning towards the door,

"Beca," he whispered, in this hopeless sort of voice. "What would you rather I'd have done?"

She stopped and faced him one last time – not just of the day, but of her life. She needed to look him in the eyes for this. "Anything. Anything at all."

* * *

As she walked away from Longbottom's office, Beca's slow, measured steps quickly dissolved into a full on sprint. The corners of the school transformed themselves into colourless blurs on the outskirts of her vision as she ran through hallways, either because of the tears in her eyes or the speed at which she was passing them. In that moment, in that instant, the only thing in Beca's entire mind was _out._ She wanted to get out.

Once she was there, the world stopped spinning. It slowed down to the imperceptible rotating of the earth on its axis, and her surroundings became distinctive shapes rather than hapless scribbles. She could barely breathe, though. Her lungs screamed with the need for oxygen, and she took a deep breath that rivalled that of someone surfacing into cool, clean air after being submerged under water for an endless eternity. Within a few minutes, she'd slowed her breathing from borderline hyperventilating to slow, deep inhales and exhales, but her heart was still beating erratically and her chest was still pounding. Her heart still hurt.

She walked silently away from the school entrance, taking small and measured steps until she'd reached a deserted alley. Safe, perhaps not, but it was secluded and that was what she needed. Seclusion. Preferably for forever.

She leaned against the wall of the alley and found herself sliding down to the dirty ground beneath her. She didn't have the strength to stand anymore. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, then buried her head down and cried.

She cried.

They weren't silent tears, or gentle tears, or pretty tears. They were sobs; gut-wrenching, heart-stabbing sobs that echoed around the oh-so empty alley and hit her all over again when they bounced off the walls. Beca sat and wept and couldn't stop.

_Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. Stop crying. Come on. You're gunna be fine._ The voice in her head had, for once, taken on a soft, comforting tone, but it wasn't helping. These were words that only she could provide herself, because no one loved her and no one was there for her and no one would ever really tell her that it would be okay because it never would, and that just made everything worse.

The voice in her head changed tactics. _Don't be so fucking pathetic, Beca. You're not a goddamn baby._ She sobbed harder. _Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You're not pathetic, it's okay, you're okay. We're okay. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, come on, stop crying, please stop crying…_

She couldn't stop. Why _should_ she stop? What reason did she have to stop?

_You did this to yourself. _The voice was still soft, but reprimanding. Loving but stern._ You know the rules. You know what happens when you trust someone. It's always been that way, ever since you were a kid. You know what happens. That's why I take a charge. To protect you… You've been hurt so many times, Beca. Just stay back and let me handle this. I'll protect you. Just calm down. Come on. Deep breath. In. Out. Again. That's right. Calm down. We'll be okay. Come on, let's get to work. I know you can't face being in the house right now. We'll pretend this never happened. Should be easy, right? Store it away in a dark recess in the very, very pit of your mind. We've done a million times. We're experts. So, let's just pretend it never happened. Let's just keep going. _

Beca shoved herself up off the ground and steadied herself against the wall._ I'm fine. I'm fine. _She repeated her mantra over and over again as she made her way towards Mr. Oakley's Music Store, and stubbornly ignored the fact that she knew it was a lie.

* * *

Beca pushed the door open a bit more violently than necessary as she entered the store, causing the bell on top of it to give a loud chime of indignation. She glared harshly at it, as she did with most ringing inanimate objects, and strode over to the counter, where Tyler was waiting for her.

"Beca, _so _nice of you to join us," she said in that irritating, high-pitched voice of hers. Beca mentally screamed. Tyler was Mr. Oakley's daughter, and sometimes took care of the store when her dad was sick. Instead of being worried for her boss's well-being, as she really ought to have been, Beca took another moment to hate her life. Why, on today of all days? It was the icing on the cake of her terrible luck.

Instead of responding, Beca slipped past Tyler to the back of the store so that she could put on her uniform. Tyler followed.

"What are you doing?"

_Really? Isn't that obvious? _She tried to convey her disbelief with a haughtily raised eyebrow, but Tyler stood her ground with crossed arms and a huffy look on her face. Beca sighed.

"Well, I'm getting ready, obviously."

"_Well, you don't need to do that, obviously,_" Tyler mocked in a falsetto that made Beca's head hurt. "I heard about what happened with Brittany this morning and I don't want you working here any more."

"What? You don't even know what happened!"

"I know enough to know that you hit on my best friend, you disgusting piece of shit." She had this ugly little smirk on her face, like she thought she was so much _better_ than the girl in front of her, and Beca saw red.

Moving quickly, she grabbed Tyler's shoulder and slammed her into the wall. "What did you just call me?"

In hindsight, it probably wasn't fair. Tyler was a bitch, yeah, but in that moment it wasn't really about her. It was about everything, everything that had happened to Beca over her day and her week and her whole goddamn _life,_ and Tyler was there to let it loose on.

Gripping Tyler's upper arm so hard that it would undoubtedly bruise and maybe even bleed, Beca said, "All of you are fucking repulsive. You and your stupid friends, you just choose to see what you want, and believe what you want. Do you have any idea what happened? Do you even care? Do you know how horrible my day, my _life,_ has been because of people like you? Do you know what I've been through? Do you know what's happened to me? Can you even _imagine _it? No, because all you see is a gay, bitter, unworthy little orphan. Well, fuck you. All of you. I'm done. You want me to get out of here? Fine. I'm out." She punched the wall next to a bewildered, silent Tyler before storming out of the store, glad for its relative emptiness.

* * *

Beca kicked every rock along the road as she trudged home, cursing everything and everyone under the sun. _Stupid fuck. Fucking dumb. Asshole. Fuck. _Her thoughts were in disarray, intangible and tangled so tightly that she didn't think she'd ever be able to string two words together was shaking with rage and sorrow and the weight of life upon her shoulders, and the only thing that kept her going was the thought of collapsing onto her bed at home and never getting up again.

The living room was unoccupied, and Beca let out a breath of relief that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Rick had been nice to her that morning, but his mood changed more rapidly than the political situation in the Middle East, and there was no way she could deal with anything else today. Not one single thing.

She opened to door to her room, shut it firmly behind her, and crawled into her bed. It had never felt more comfortable. She buried her face in her pillow to keep the tears at bay, and held her breath when she felt her eyes stinging.

When the need for air became too much, she flopped onto her back and exhaled, staring at the celling. You know those moments when you have so many emotions that they all blend into one continuous, stream of nothingness, hollowing your existence and making you feel numb? Hopefully you haven't, because it's an awful feeling, but if you have, well, you know. The only feeling she could manage to extract properly and clearly was anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

She was so fucking angry. With everybody. With John, with Longbottom, with Weseltone, with Tyler, with Rick, with her mum and dad for dying so soon, and with herself. Beca was so angry with herself. The rules were simple. The rules existed for a _reason,_ after all. She didn't just make them up so that she could punish herself when she didn't follow them. The rules were supposed to stop her from feeling… this. This white river of emptiness. But _goddammit_, she was too stupid to follow them. Never expect or hope. Never completely trust someone. And never, under any circumstances, _ever _fall in love. _You're so fucking stupid, Beca Mitchell._

But angry as she was, she couldn't ignore the _other _feelings, the ones she couldn't quite shape out clearly but could definitely take a few gambles at. She was sad, that much she knew. She was hurt. Maybe frustrated. Heartbroken?_ Too fucking dramatic._ She felt betrayed. Betrayed and hurt and angry and sad and frustrated. At this moment in time, Beca truly felt _like shit_. Not exactly eloquent, but accurate. _So _accurate.

Her eyes lost focus as images of John's hands on her were brought to the forefront of her mind. She shuddered, raising her hands to her neck to trace the memory of the fingers clutching her there, suffocating her, holding her in place. She shook her head to dispel the image. She needed to get those thoughts out of her head. She needed a shower. That was it. A cold, long shower to wash away the day.

* * *

As she passed Rick and Marry's (right, just Rick's) room, Beca took a quick glance through the already open door. She frowned slightly when she didn't see Rick in there. _Strange. Maybe he's out or something. _She shrugged mentally and continued down the hallway towards the relief of a shower.

The door to the bathroom was closed. Beca's frown deepened. She knocked.

No answer.

She turned the knob and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. She peered inside, but the lights were out and she couldn't see... whatever Rick might be doing in there. _Dear Gods, please don't let him be passed out and naked inside. Just no. Please. Not today. _Slowly, with her eyes open just barely, Beca stepped inside the room and flicked the light switch on the adjacent wall.

* * *

Shock. Frozen shock. And horror. Rick was in there, all right, and he was on the floor. Not naked, but also not moving. He didn't... he didn't look passed out. His eyes were wide open, but unseeing. A bottle of pills wasn't too far away from his body; it looked as if it'd rolled out of his hand after he'd fallen to the floor. Beca entire body froze. She didn't scream for help like in the movies, or run towards Rick to perform CPR and heroically save the day, and she definitely didn't start calling 911. She didn't - she _couldn't_ \- do anything.

In that moment, Beca would have loved to be a writer - someone who could muster up some great poetic words to describe the peace that had settled in his features: there was no faint smile on his lips, no long-forgotten innocence etched around the lines on his face, no remote semblance of happiness on him at all. But there was peace. He didn't give off any pain or relief; any grief or happiness; any good or any bad. His wide open eyes didn't hold the cold glare of evil that Beca had grown accustomed to over the years, nor the warm stare that he'd presented her with that morning. They weren't dazed or unfocused from too much beer, they weren't wet with his grief or haunted by his failures. His eyes were numb. Empty. Devoid of life. And that emptiness; that hollowness was the thing that would forever haunt Beca. It was what scared her most. Because his eyes told one word: gone.

* * *

"And when you opened the door to the bathroom, he was just there, right?" The policeman asked Beca _again_. After what could have been seconds but still felt like a lifetime, Beca had managed to snap out of it. She had called 911, and the place had been swarming with cops ever since. It was a suicide, that much was painfully obvious, but they still kept asking Beca the same questions over and over and over and _over -_

"For the hundredth time, yes!" Beca snapped.

"Rick! _Rick!_" came a loud cry from outside the house. The sobs that followed were growing in volume until the door suddenly burst open and Marry came rushing inside.

Beca quickly turned towards the entrance.

"Ma'am, you can't go in."

"He's my husband he's my husband!" Marry was saying, pushed her way through the house, running with no apparent sense of direction. "Is he okay? Is he at the hospital? Where is he? Just tell me where he is, please!"

"Ma'am, you need to calm down. Your husband Rick was found dead on the bathroom floor by Beca here earlier this afternoon. We suspect an overdose of prescription medication as the cause of his death, it most likely caused his heart rate to drop and..."

Marry didn't seem to be listening. Her eyes, filled with tears, continued to scan the house desperately until they settled firmly on Beca.

"Beca, Beca," she called, running towards her now. "What happened? Beca, what happened? Where is he? Is he alright?" Marry was looking at her with delirious hope in her eyes. She was looking at Beca, as if Beca and Beca alone had the answers to this; as if she was the one who was going to reassure her that this was all a lie, that Rick was alive.

Beca couldn't.

"I…I…He is… I just… I just found him… and he was... He was gone… and I don't know… and the pills were there…"

A guttural sob shook Marry's body as her knees gave out and she tumbled to the floor right by Beca's feet. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were trying to keep herself together with her hands, and Beca knew the motion well. Marry sobbed. Harder. And harder.

That was Beca's breaking point.

* * *

Ignoring the calls of the officer, who still wanted to talk to her for whatever reason, Beca sprinted out of the house. She ran as if the building behind her was on fire, as if the grim reaper was at her heels and her only chance at life was to keep going. She ran till her eyes blurred; till her heart begged her to let it be; till her feet ached; till she collapsed.

In the middle of the field that Beca had often been drawn to on Friday nights, Beca found herself on her knees. The sobs that she could no longer hold racked her body, and she let them. The sound of her pain only grew louder as she gazed up the stars. She felt desperation as plea after plea tore from her mouth. Crying, babbling, and begging, Beca asked any greater power of the universe to do something. Anything. Her cries for help were sorrowful and hopeless, much like those of a man drowning. And she was drowning alright. Clutching her sides tightly, Beca bent down till her head rested on the ground.

"Please. Please. Just do something. Please, just anything. Just make it stop. I need you. Please. I need you. Be here. Just please. I can't breathe. Just take it away. It hurts. Just this one time. I need you. Be here, please, I don't ask for much, be here. Please."

Lying on her side and curling into a pathetic ball of existence, her cries slowly turned into whisper and her sobs turned into whimpers until she was left with nothing but the quiet muttering of "please." She couldn't seem to stop saying it.

Beca was never one for hoping, but on that Friday night Beca hoped. She hoped with all her heart, soul and mind. She hoped the image of John's hands, Longbottoms's words, and Rick's eyes would go away. She hoped that she could be happy, she hoped that her numbness would turn into feeling and her sadness would fade and that good days would come. But most of all, Beca hoped for a miracle.

And miracles no longer happen.

* * *

She was filled with anger. Pure, unadulterated rage, whose screams blinded her.

"Fuck you. I'm done. I'm done waiting for you to come around. I'm done hoping. I'm done. I don't even need you. I don't need you. I don't want you. Not anymore. What could you do anyway? I'm past fixing, anyway, and I'm done."

Suddenly, she was pulling at her necklace with all her might. Harder, and harder. It hurt her neck, but she didn't care. She kept pulling.

In a moment, Beca only saw the glimmer of the silver necklace in the moon light before it hit the ground. And in the next, Beca too was on the ground, passed out.

* * *

**Yes, okay, you can kill me now...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh boy! It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm so very sorry. College, and thesis, and life in general have been kicking my arse at a consistent rate. That is not to say that's an excuse, but I've just been very mentally drained. Abandoned fics are the reason I have trust issues, but I can now see why it's hard to maintain a fic.**

**This is for everyone who's left a review or followed the story. To you all, I apologise.**

**Also, huge thanks to ****emotionsovrflow ****for agreeing to take on this fic at such a short notice.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own pitch perfect or any of the characters. If I did, I would drop out of school and go backpacking across Europe.**

* * *

The space-time continuum that we call our universe can be considered a Euclidean Space. We're the insignificantly small points, and our lives are the infinite lines we can draw. The choices we make are what determines what direction our lines takes, and what other lines we run into. A miracle is still needed for two parallel lines to meet, though. And geometry does not believe in miracles.

* * *

The day had started unlike any other day.

Chloe Beale was sitting in bed, hugging her knees and staring intently into her alarm clock as it delicately handled the most mystifying concept in the universe: time. Her absentminded look worried her yellow clock some as its handles moved between the numbers, defying the rules of physics, and proving that time travel is, in fact, possible. The clock took the time to analyse the eeriness of their situation.

The room was silent. Dead silent. Some would argue that silence wasn't exactly all that strange… and they would be right. Because the establishment of the patriarchy in today's world is strange, humans' complete disrespect of the environment is strange, the gender binary is strange, but using the word 'silent' in the presence of Chloe Beale herself was just downright abnormal.

The room was dark. Pitch black. Again, maybe not all that strange given that it was 5:45 in the morning, but this was Chloe Beale! This was the girl who still sleeps with all the lights on to scare away the ghosts. For Gods' sake, Chloe herself was a living beacon of light! What with her radiant red hair, and ocean blue eyes, and 356-megawatt smile, people often joked that she glows.

Chloe was nervous; she was rocking herself back and forth and biting her nails. The highly concerned alarm clock noted that that was perhaps the strangest of all. Chloe Beale didn't really do nervous. It wasn't due to overconfidence, mind you. But, Chloe, bless her, always possessed a go-get-it attitude. A firm believer of fate, Chloe was never nervous, because whatever happens, happens for a reason.

This was not right at all. The alarm clock shook its head in worry. Deciding to intervene, the alarm clock put on its best cheerful voice and announced that it was 6 o'clock. Chloe blinked as her eyes focused once again on the time piece. Sighing softly, she turned off the alarm and made her way through the cornucopia of clothes strewn on the floor, unaware of the frown of a very frustrated alarm clock.

Aubrey Posen was sitting on the sofa in a very similar state to Chloe's earlier one. The TV in front of her showed a video of a group of girls in flight attendants' outfits moving and serenading a song with lyrics about seeing a sign of some sort.

At the clicking sound of the door as it was closed, Aubrey quickly turned around.

"Chloe!" Her voice carried the surprised tone of a best friend who had never seen her friend wake up early without so much as an apocalypse, or Aubrey's continuous nagging—whichever came first. "What are you doing up so early? We still have…" She paused to look down at her watch. "Around two hours or so." To be perfectly honest, Aubrey didn't want Chloe to see her like this. She, too, was very nervous, and she knew Chloe would be worried.

"I've been up for a while now. Can't sleep. Too many nerves." Chloe replied sulkily, plopping, ungracefully, on the sofa and using Aubrey's lap as a pillow.

Aubrey sighed, running her fingers through Chloe's hair. She reached to turn off the TV and turned to look at the redhead. "What's wrong, Sunshine?" She asked softly.

"I'm just worried…" Chloe pouted. "What if we mess up, or just ruin the whole thing? And there will be _so _many people." She elaborated, cutely stretching her vowels.

"Hey, come on now. Since when do you do nervous? We'll be great. You and I, we've got this." Aubrey's voice hesitated slightly towards the end of her sentence as if she wasn't so sure herself. "I…I mean we've been practicing all year, haven't we?" Chloe didn't miss the panicked tone that crept into the blonde's voice. She knew today was just as hard for Aubrey if not more. She quickly sat up and turned to face Aubrey on the sofa, putting on her biggest smile and reaching to squish Aubrey's cheeks.

"You're right Posen!" She declared, continuing to hold Aubrey's face in her hands. "We. Are. Going. To. Be. GREAT!" She punctuated her words by moving Aubrey's head up and down. "Okay, I'm going to go shower now. Could you maybe make some of your AWESOME pancakes while I do that?" Aubrey rolled her eyes. Of course, Chloe would ask her to make breakfast. Before she could respond, Chloe was making her way to the bathroom singing 'we are gunna be great.'

Aubrey sighed as she made her way to the kitchen, her mind elsewhere. Truth is, Aubrey was even more worried. Unlike Chloe, who had at least a few hours of sleep, Aubrey had none. She had spent the entire night watching old performances of the Bellas in the past years' competitions. Aubrey had more at stake, too. In an attempt to convince her dad that _maybe_ Barden wasn't all that bad and that the Bellas weren't _just _a waste of time and tuition money, Aubrey had begged her dad to come watch them at the Nationals. She was secretly hoping that she could prove her talents to the man and acquire his much-desired approval. Her mind was reeling as all the different scenarios raced through her mind. Vivid images of one possible screw-up after the other rushed through her brain, and she had a knot the size of white privilege in her stomach that just wouldn't go away.

Aubrey groaned before reaching for the pancakes. _Today __is__ going to be a long day._

* * *

"So, what's the plan today?" Swallowing heavily, Chloe mumbled with her mouth full of food after shoving a huge piece of pancake down her throat.

Aubrey sighed; part disgusted and part fond of the bubbly redhead. She had given up completely on trying to teach Chloe proper table etiquette. She just wouldn't learn.

"Well, we should be on the bus by 10. The trip should take around 4 hours if we're lucky. We'll have some time to relax before the competition, and we'll start at around 5." Aubrey easily recited the well-memorized schedule down to the last minute. "Have you finished packing?" Aubrey asked, already knowing the answer.

"Uuuuummm…" Chloe started. "I just have a little bit of clothes here and there, you know?" She answered vaguely.

"That means you haven't even started. Chloe!" She admonished the redhead. "Up. Now. You have an hour." Aubrey pushed the redhead towards her room.

"But I haven't finished—"

"Pack!"

* * *

Packing had taken them a little less than 40 minutes. Aubrey would note of course that it would have taken much shorter if they didn't have to scavenger hunt for Chloe's shirts amid the piles of scattered clothes. Finally, they were making their way to the bus waiting to transport them.

"Oh! Will you look at that? You're on time. For once." Alice greeted the two girls curtly. "I almost wish you weren't." She looked them up and down disgustedly before climbing into the bus.

Slowly, Chloe and Aubrey both sighed before following silently.

A couple of hours later, the Barden Bellas were all backstage watching the Treblemakers. They were next. Just as their main rivals were about to hit the chorus, Alice approached Chloe and Aubrey. "Listen here tweedledum and tweedledee! I can't believe that we're leaving the Bellas to you, but unfortunately, we don't have a choice. This is my last year, and if you two fuck it up, even just a little bit," She held her thumb and forefinger millimetres apart. "I will end you." She finished menacingly before turning around and walking away.

Chloe turned to face Aubrey to see the blonde dry heaving and holding her stomach. "Aubrey, here. Just calm down. It's okay. Just breathe. We'll be okay." She continued rubbing circles on her back until the blonde calmed down enough. Aubrey stood up, took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Right, I'll be okay. I'm just going to get some water." She stammered, leaving Chloe alone.

The redhead stood backstage, eyes following the blonde. She was _really _nervous. Her hands automatically reached up to grasp the necklace around her neck and pull it between her fingers. She twirled it around before laying a kiss on the pendant. "I love you." She whispered. _I love you so much._

* * *

_How the hell did they manage to fuck up this bad? _Everything just happened so suddenly, you know? One second, she was singing while keeping an eye on Aubrey during her much-anticipated solo, and the next she watched as the blonde projectile vomited all over the judges. Aubrey froze for a second, horrified. And then she was running off stage with Chloe closely following.

"Hey, Aubrey! Aubrey, slow down!" Chloe shouted, running after the frantic blonde. Aubrey didn't stop. She didn't even acknowledge Chloe. She didn't stop running until she was in the bathroom, doubled over, and throwing up once again. Chloe walked over and held her friend's hair. After a while, the disturbing sounds of vomiting were replaced by the small whimpers and sniffles that quickly turned into sobbing. "Oh, Bree…" Chloe whispered miserably, reaching over to pull her friend into a hug, despite the questionable nature of what was on the blonde's shirt.

Eventually, Aubrey finally stopped crying. She got up, reached for the sink, and cleaned herself up some. She looked herself in the mirror and sighed, her eyes tearing up once again. Turning around, she looked at Chloe. "Take me home, Chlo," she whispered in surrender. Chloe pulled her into a hug before moving to grab her hand and lead her to the bus station.

* * *

"Chloe it's Friday!" Aubrey suddenly sounded even more miserable. They had finally made it back to their apartment. Chloe had helped Aubrey shower and made her some tea. After much debate, she convinced the blonde to get some sleep. She was lying in bed next to the blonde, too worried about leaving her in case she started crying again.

"Yeah. And?" Chloe asked. She knew what Aubrey meant, but she didn't want the blonde feeling guiltier.

"It's Friday, and because you had to take care of me, you couldn't go talk to _her__._" She started. "You talk to her every Friday. It's important to you, and you've never missed a Friday. Ever. And now you have, because of _me_. Chloe, I'm so sorry." The blonde worked herself up into such a state and it seemed she was about to break down again.

"Bree" Chloe tried to get the girl's attention. "Bree, it's fine."

"How can it be fine? You've been talking to her every Friday since before we even met… God, Chloe, I'm sorry I'm such a mess." Aubrey sounded heartbroken.

"Aubrey, listen to me." Chloe reached over to take her best friend's hand. "It was my choice to stay with you here and I would do it all over again. Yes, I'm in love with her. But, you're my best friend and I love you." She spoke softly. "Plus, like you said, I've been doing this my whole life. I'm sure one Friday won't matter in the grand scheme of things." Chloe whispered.

"But-"

"No buts! I chose to stay here with you. She'll be fine." Chloe said with finality. But even as she put on her most reassuring smile and cuddled back into Aubrey, Chloe felt her heart beat uncertainly. She got the feeling that maybe she wouldn't be.

* * *

**Let me know what you think? I absolutely _love _talking my plot over with someone. So, if you've got questions, shoot me a message or ask me on Tumblr. ****(And again, I'm sorry I'm an idiot.)**


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